


Swing It Back Around

by Tyranno



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Time Travel, de-aging (kinda), highschool au (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 04:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6141357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter felt a thick annoyance rise in his chest. It couldn’t just have been a teleporting orange, could it? It had to be a damn <i>time-travelling</i> orange instead. Catching a break was just too much to ask for, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swing It Back Around

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the [spideypool gift exchange](http://spideypoolexchange.tumblr.com/). I know there are a lot of wips I should be finishing, but this was mainly to blow off some steam. Also, I'm pretty sure I took parts of the plot from an "imagine your otp" or a prompt post somewhere but I don't know where, so if I find the post again I'll link it here.
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: 18/11/16: replaced a particularly embarresingly wrong science metaphor

The city air was cold and thin, heavy with the smell of grease and burning rubber. Crisp frost covered the streets like salt.

Peter breathed out with a cough and sniffed loudly. He was getting a cold—it was that time of year, after all. He wrinkled his numb nose. He’d have to take a few days off super-heroing since sneezing inside a skin-tight mask wasn’t an experience he was quick to repeat.

As he walked, the dusk faded and the city lit up. Cars rumbled like muffled snores somewhere a few streets away, but the alleys were quiet and dark.

An explosion rocked the ground. 

Peter was running before the echoes faded, throwing his shoes into the gutter and vaulting over garbage cans. He skidded into a dead-end alley. Puddles splashed his ankles as he leapt onto the walls, springing over the dividing wall to find—

“ _Deadpool_?!” Peter landed in a crouch, expression souring.

“Oh—Peter!” Wade shifted the boxes that were tumbling out of his arms, “It—isn’t what it looks like!”

“It isn’t?” Peter stalked closer, scooping a sodden box out of a puddle and tearing off the cardboard, “So this isn’t some priceless jewellery box you’re stealing?”

“Okay,” Wade tried to catch a tumbling box, but only resulted in batting it further away, “But it’s not _exactly_ what it looks—”

“ _Wade_!” Peter grumbled, “I thought we had an agreement! Don’t break the fucking law!”

“This is an exception!” Wade yelped, another box falling from his heavy arms.

“An exception?” Peter frowned, lifting the box lightly. He held it sideways and something rolled inside, something roughly the size of an eyeball. Ice ran down his spine. “Why— _why_ is this an exception?”

“It’s magic stuff,” Wade said, dropping to his knees to scoop up soaking wet boxes. “It’s only fair that we dispose of it responsibly!”

Peter grimaced, running a thumb over the smooth seam of wood, feeling for the hinges.

“Wait, Petey, I wouldn’t–”

Peter found the hinges, small and cold, at the back of the box. Carefully, he eased the ancient box open. He stared inside.

“What is it?” Wade asked, trying to peak inside.

“What the _hell_ , Wade?” Peter glared at him, snatching the contents of the box, “This is just—”

* * *

“—an—”

Brilliant white light flooded into Peter’s eyes and he flinched back, sticky juice running down his arm. He flailed about, loosing his footing and falling back onto—… _grass_?

“…orange…” Peter muttered, grimacing as his eyes got used to the light.

Wade was gone. The alley was gone. Instead…

Instead, the sun shone brilliantly in a beautiful dusk sky. He was in a courtyard of some kind, ringed with skyscrapers like trees in a forest. A huge red-bricked building rested easily at the other side of the courtyard. The air was pleasantly warm, and smelled strongly of fresh grass even though it still held the quiet stink of a city.

Peter sat up, glancing down at the slightly mashed orange in his palm. It was a strange orange, a sort of pinkish red, smelling fiercely of citrus. Had it transported him somewhere? For once, not into the lap of a super-villain, but knowing him that was probably where his luck ended. He tucked the orange inside his pocket and stood up.

The day was drawing to a close, sharp orange cutting through the silhouetted skyscrapers. A rattling crack sounded as tennis ball collided with the fence a few yards away and a teenager ran doggedly after it. Further down the courtyard, a gaggle of adolescents talked and laughed loudly.

Peter padded lightly down the gravel path, glancing around warily. It seemed like a suspiciously ordinary college, full of suspiciously ordinary young adults. He reached a bench and scooped up a discarded newspaper.

He was fifteen years in the past.

Peter felt a thick annoyance rise in his chest. It couldn’t just have been a teleporting orange, could it? It had to be a damn _time-travelling_ orange instead. Catching a break was just too much to ask for, after all.

With a deep sigh he dropped the newspaper back on the bench and headed towards the edge of campus.

He ran a hand through his hair, reviewing his options. Fifteen years was a long time. Shit, he was sixteen somewhere, right? Well… may just this universe’s version of him, but he didn’t quite want to admit that he might be in a different universe right now, at least not yet.

As he reached the edge of campus, a dirty pick up truck rumbled to halt at the roadside. He didn’t even look at it, until the driver waved his arms wildly at him.

“Hey!” The guy was leaning far enough out to fall out of the window, “Hey, you deaf or something?”

“What?” Peter squinted at him. The guy was young, in his twenties if Peter had to guess, with bright blonde hair and an exceedingly fresh face. Peter raised an eyebrow, “What do you want?”

“No need to act hostile,” The guy leant back a little, blue eyes bright, “I was offering you a ride.”

Peter blinked at him.

“You’re hung over, right?” The guy grinned.

Peter frowned, “What makes you say that?”

The guy looked down, and Peter followed his gaze to his bare feet and muddy, scuffed jeans. He shifted his feet sheepishly. “I guess I am.”

“It happens to the best of us,” The guy settled back in his seat and jerked a thumb behind him, “Hop in.”

Peter padded around the truck and wrenched open the door. The back of his brain worried about being wary of strangers, but when you fought super-villians on a regular basis, personal safety became a bit of an after thought. He settled back on the slightly sticky pleather chair and glanced around the dashboard. “I’m Peter,” He offered.

“Name’s Wade,” The guy grinned, showing a dazzle of pearly-whites.

“Wilson?” Peter asked.

The guy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “How’d you know?”

“A wild guess,” Peter drawled.

Wade grinned, “Where you going, anyway?”

“I’m going as far as you’ll take me,” Peter sighed.

“I’ve got some time,” Wade glanced absently at his watch, “Where’s home?”

Peter grimaced, “I ain’t got a home.”

Wade winced sympathetically, pulling out of the car park and joining the main road, the battered old truck giving a contented rumble, “If it’s any consolation, you look pretty good for a homeless guy.”

“It’s my first day,” Peter muttered, glancing out of the window.

The city was the same, at least on street level. Similar sweeping grey buildings with similar restaurants and similar shops, similar leaflets plastered to similar side walks. Heck, if he’d swung through this place on any other day, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.

“Well—…” Wade drummed his fingers on the wheel, a little flush rising up his face, “Look, my room-mate’s left so I’ve got a room free and it gets kinda boring up there by myself and there's—”

“Are—,” Peter asked, eyes widening, “are you asking me to move in with you?”

Wade flushed and nodded, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

“Do you offer that to all the lost boys?” Peter asked, eyebrow quirked.

“O-only the cute ones,” Wade grinned too wide.

“I’m flattered,” Peter grinned slyly.

Wade said nothing, face glowing red. Peter grinned a little meanly at him. Twenty-year-old Wade was so innocent.

“In all seriousness,” Peter settled down in the seat, straightening up, “I appreciate it. Thanks.”

Wade beamed, glancing back at him. Peter only saw it for a second, but he could swear Wade’s eyes were actually _twinkling_.

* * *

It seemed that messy rooms were something Wade had since birth, Peter mused, picking his way around a table covered with empty beer cans and crisp packets, nearly knocking over a towering pile of textbooks in the process.

At least it didn’t smell too bad. Even when you changed outfits everyday, super-heroing usually resulted in a perpetual stink of sweat around the house, let alone when you were only starting out and only had one costume. Peter made a face at the memory. Aunt May must have nostrils of steel, else she would have passed out just walking past his room when he was a teenager.

“Do you want a beer?” Wade asked from the fridge, holding one up and smiling. He was doing a lot of smiling.

“Sure,” Peter shrugged.

“Do you want some shoes or something? Or a shower?” Wade passed him the beer.

“Some shoes, maybe. Do you have any that are worn out or something?” Peter frowned. He didn’t like to impose, but Wade was trying his hardest to be the most gracious host he could. That lasted too.

Wade furrowed his brow, digging around in a pile of old magazines, “I’ve got some trainers,” Wade pulled out a pair of wrinkled greying trainers and passed them to Peter, “They’re not the best but they’ll keep the rain out.”

Peter smiled gratefully and slipped them on, “You should really be more careful, though. I could be a mass murderer for all you know.”

“You don’t look like one,” Wade blurted out.

Peter grinned, “They said that about Ted Bundy.”

Wade flushed red and laughed.

Peter settled back against the couch and took a sip of his beer, thinking. He could feel the remains of the orange quietly soaking through his jeans.

“You know, Pete,” Wade said, looking at his hands, “my room-mate won’t be back at all this summer…”

Peter took a big gulp of beer and tried not to grimace. He’d been afraid of this.

“…and you’ve got a _great_ ass…” Wade continued.

Subtly was a gift Wade was born with, apparently.

“…so. Yeah. I mean, I like you, Peter,” Wade finished, “I mean, you can stay here even if you _don’t_ like me, but I like _you_ , so—”

“Uh,” interrupted Peter, raising his eyebrows.

Wade waited, expectantly. A flush was rising back to his cheeks that just made his eyes look brighter.

“Look, Wade,” Peter started, “You’re a cute kid, but I think I gotta go home now.”

“I thought you didn’t have a home,” Wade frowned.

Peter finished his beer and braced himself, “I don’t. Well, it’s complicated. You see, I’m from the future.”

Wade stared.

“About fifteen years in the future. I’m a superhero,” Peter said, “in the future.”

Wade was silent for a moment, searching Peter’s face carefully. Then he asked, “Are you joking?”

“No,” Peter said.

Wade stared.

Peter set his beer down and stood up, brushing himself off, “Well, I’m sorry for leading you on like that.”

“Uh—no, it’s fine,” Wade said.

Peter glanced at his trainers, “Can I keep the shoes?”

“Yeah, sure,” Wade said.

Peter opened the door and hovered in the doorway. He cleared his throat, “I’m going to go. Sorry, again. Bye.”

“Bye,” Wade said.

Peter closed the door and stepped out into the chilly city air. All the orange of dusk had faded by now, the thick blanket of night frayed at the edges by sickly orange street-lights and streams of yellow headlights. He could feel the cold asphalt under his feet, the soft give of the trainers reminded him of the thin soles of his suit.

He padded to the main street, still feeling a little guilty. He probably should have been a bit more tactful on the rejection, but in the end it was for the better. In his experience, though unwanted and totally unwelcome, time travel and alternate universe stints usually resolved themselves within a few days, a week at most. It was probably some law of universal physics—The product of the pressure and the volume of an ideal gas at constant temperature is a constant, the object with balanced forces will stay in motion, the lost soul will find his way back home. Things right themselves in the end.

Peter reached the end of the street and turned into a quieter one. On the other side of the road, the glass from a convenience store glittered like gold on the asphalt. A dying street light blinked feebly.

Peter felt around in his pocket and gripped the ruined orange lightly. The juice had soaked through his jeans and he felt the dampness keenly. He couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it away.

It was almost silent, save for the distant rumble of the cars like the city’s heartbeat. His breath sounded raspy and loud. Somewhere nearby the scrape of metal on asphalt echoed, a cat pushing around an empty tin, or a dog snuffling under a trash can’s lid.

Peter shifted his grip on the sticky fruit. It might not have been the orange that sent him here. It might have just been opening the box that did it. Like Pandora, letting out the horrors of the past, things that were better forgotten. Like college.

He shuddered.

Peter crossed the street at random and set off down another road. If he was still here by morning, perhaps he would go back, beg the younger Wade for forgiveness. Perhaps not.

He stopped in front of a pub that was somehow still open, warm orange light glowing through the small, dirty windows. It was called _The Cat In The Hamper_ , and he recognised it, even if he couldn’t remember where from. Checking he had enough money in his pocket, he pushed the heavy door open.

When he stepped inside, the sudden loud chatter and the low hum of a pop song he had almost forgotten about almost overwhelmed him. He recognised the inside too. Had it burnt down in the future? Had he crashed through it fighting some villain?

Peter ordered a coffee from the bar and settled near an ornamental Juke-box. He took a sip and immediately felt more awake. He stared at the fading Jurassic Park poster and tried to remember when he’d been here before.

“Pete?” A familiar voice asked near his ear.

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin, snapping his head around, “Wade?”

Wade smiled, and his scars crinkled.

Peter threw his arms around Wade’s neck, “God, I’ve _never_ been so glad to see your ugly mug.”

“Wow. Complements,” Wade grinned, settling down next to him, “You really are glad.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Peter made a face, “I’ve been talking to a younger you all evening.”

“Kinda like what I’ve been doing…” Wade jerked his head towards the bar.

Peter followed Wade’s gaze and grimaced. On the other side of the bar, sixteen-year-old Peter Parker sat near the wall, legs pulled tightly under the stool and elbows close to his sides. He pushed the coaster around and sipped quietly on a fruity drink with a little pink umbrella.

“Oh god,” the older Peter grumbled, looking away. “Please tell me you haven’t talked to him— _me_.”

“Nah,” Wade stole a sip of Peter’s coffee, “Although I could probably scare him off if you wanted.”

“No, no,” Peter shook his head, “I'll—I’d have just found somewhere else.” Peter ran a hand through his hair, “God, I completely forgot about that.”

“Your bar-hopping days?”

“They were something like that. It’s pretty embarrassing, really… I think I read somewhere bars were a place you could meet people—this was before I met Harry, or MJ, or Gwen, and I was just…” Peter scratched the back of his neck.

Wade nodded, glancing between the two Peters.

Unlike Wade, Peter hadn’t really changed superficially since his teenage years. His face was a little thinner, his chin more defined. His hair was shorter, but it caught the light with the same softness and his eyes were the same chocolate brown.

Across the room, a young Peter pushed away an empty glass and walked quickly to the bathroom.

It was clearer in the way the two of them moved. Sixteen-year-old Peter fidgeted and walked stiffly, like his limbs were the wrong size for his body. He stumbled and scuffed his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

The older Peter— _his_ Peter—sat still. Only his eyes moved, flicking between people with an odd intensity. He moved with a deliberate sort of grace, only when needed, to conserve energy. It had been ground into him through countless hours running on empty and countless harsh battles, countless nights spend hanging off a ledge by his fingertips. It was almost unsettling, the economy of motion.

Peter’s eyes found his, and Wade smiled.

“I kinda forgot the ask,” Peter whispered, “do you have any idea how we’re going to get back?”

“You still have the orange right?” Wade asked.

“Yep,” Peter patted his pocket, “Never leave home without it.”

“Thank god,” Wade sighed, “It’s our ticket out of here.”

“I figured,” Peter finished his coffee. “How?”

“The thing is, it isn’t an orange. Or not a regular one; it’s magic. There was this long story about two true lovers caught between a war or something, I don’t know, I kinda zoned out for that, but basically it’s a tree that plants itself. So all we have to do is put it back where we found it, and we’re home free.”

“That’s great,” Peter grumbled, “but the building you broke into hasn’t been built yet. There’s a college there.”

“Yes, but that college has a basement that isn’t on the plan. Professor Emmet uses the college as a front,” Wade tapped his temple, “found _that_ out on the third day.”

“So we’ve just got to put it back in the basement,” Peter rubbed his eyes. “Seems fair.”

“Yeah,” Wade glanced at Peter’s empty coffee cup, “So you’re all done? We can head back? I’m sure New York is already missing you.”

“You know what?” Peter sighed and pushed a coaster around the tabletop. He glanced up at Wade with his hot chocolate eyes, “Let’s have a quiet evening. Just the two of us.”

“Alright,” Wade raised a hairless brow, “but the next round’s on you.”

“I don’t have any money,” Peter patted his pockets, “But I guess I’ll pay you back later. I still owe you for the trainers.”

“That was you?” Wade yelped.

Peter grinned.

Wade grinned back, making his way to the counter. New York could wait, he decided.


End file.
